


The sun went out one night, and did not come back for mourning

by Mothwood



Category: Bleach
Genre: Adoration/Worship, Angst, Biting, Character Death, Character Study, Everything I write will always and forever be trans Ichigo lbr, Feral Grimmjow, First Kiss, Grimmjow POV, Hollow instincts, Implied Sexual Content, Inner world, Loss of Control, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Semi-Open Ending, Sort of? - Freeform, Timeline What Timeline, Trans Ichigo, Trans Male Character, i warned y'all, just in case you missed the archive warning, non explicit vore, shinigami vs hollow values, soft romance, soul eating, zanpakuto/arrancar bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothwood/pseuds/Mothwood
Summary: -it passed away so prettily, crimson, gold, and smiling.(Now with art!)
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 23
Kudos: 78





	The sun went out one night, and did not come back for mourning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plouton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plouton/gifts).



> Hi! This is dedicated to Plou, who yeeted this basic concept into the Grimmichi Discord a little while back, and it siezed me by the balls at three am and about four days later, it's here! Please be aware the formatting may be a bit weird, AO3 doesn't like google docs and I... am lazy as hell. Much love to you all!
> 
> EDIT: I was blessed by some AMAZING artwork by @voidtonics on twitter,,, thank you so much Chungy Ily!!!

Pantera circles in the lush vegetation of his mind, her broad head dipping under jungle vines and lapping pooled water from the large shell of a fat green leaf, curled upwards like a bowl. She is so _obnoxious,_ in her animalistic perfection. No need for humanity, she is sleek dappled armour. Her jaw crushes mountains between teeth. He wants to be worthy of her. 

She says he already is. He should focus on being worthy of _Kurosaki,_ worthy of calling the boy _his prey._ And maybe she's right. 

She's definitely right, actually. She usually is, even if it's not _human_ right, or _shinigami_ right, because when Grimmjow speaks her wisdom around Kisuke, the man looks at him sideways, while Yoruichi raises a brow, and Tessai's obscenely thick moustache twitches. Grimmjow has attributed this specific twitch to bemusement. 

But _Ichigo_ drags his eyes across the curve of Grimmjow's jawbone mask shard, all that is left to him of the creature he once was, now compressed into human form, ( _stronger, yes, but at the cost of gaining so much emotion, he feels too many things now,_ ) and he furrows his brows upwards, tight, and nods. Understanding. His eyes glint gold in the darkness, and under direct light, almost like Grimmjow's own tapetum lucidum, but weaker, less catlike. 

It starts like this-

"Why would you be gentle about that? Sink your teeth into him so he can't get away," Grimmjow says to Ururu, face twisted into a sneer as Kisuke gently scolds her for trying to bite Jinta when he made a grab for her rice at dinner. Kisuke half-turns and _looks_ at him, eyes narrowed, and Grimmjow's shoulders crawl up towards his ears in discomfort. 

"He's right," Kurosaki says, from the other doorway, and Ururu twists her fingers together nervously. "-if he's gonna try and steal your food, let him know that _he's_ gonna be the food, next." Kurosaki _smiles,_ and Ururu giggles a bit, and glances at Grimmjow with some sort of cross between gratitude and something he hasn't figured out how to identify yet. 

Kisuke looks to Kurosaki like he's been gently slapped. Kurosaki looks downright _innocently_ back, and Grimmjow's missing heart skips a little in his chest, and Pantera laughs low and satisfied, parts her jaws: _he understands, sees more than he says._

* * *

  
  


Kurosaki likes to be useful, Grimmjow has discovered over time. His fingers tug and pull anxiously at the hilt of the trench knife that rests at his hip out of his human body, when he's feeling still and stagnant and unneeded. White and black robes shift when he moves, and he always looks like he should overbalance, with the larger sword strapped to his back like that. He's so fucking _small,_ lanky, steel-wire muscles and downright _delicate_ wrists and neck. His fingers are long, and calloused, and the sensation always confuses Grimmjow, in his own gigai, (when Kurosaki grabs his wrist to get his attention, or shoves at his face during a spat when Grimmjow goes to snap at him with flat human teeth) because _his_ skin has always, _always_ been smooth. Ichigo is roughened from contact and gripping the hilts of his swords. He does not have a hierro to prevent the friction from wearing him away. 

But Kurosaki likes to feel needed. Ask him to do something in the _right way_ and he'll cross oceans to complete it. 

Kisuke is a _master_ at persuasion; Grimmjow sits with his feet tucked up under himself on top of a rock as Kisuke works Kurosaki over to his way of thinking, all subtle cues and delicately feeding information in. It's a practiced artform, really, and Grimmjow takes visceral delight in interrupting him halfway through, because he _knows_ Ichigo. He can get this over with in one statement, whereas Kisuke will be wheedling him for another half hour. 

He scratches along the ridge of his mask and leans over the edge of the boulder, eyes the expanse of the training ground behind him, for a moment, feeling exposed with his back facing the majority of the area. Vulnerable. Pantera prickles at the skin of his neck. 

"Just fucking do it, Kurosaki. Unless you're chicken?" He grins, feral and unkind, and Ichigo bristles, that default scowl becoming etched and dark. 

"Fuck! Fine, Urahara, slap that goddamn Kido on me, then. Let's see how well it holds up when I throw Grimmjow across the grounds."

Kisuke looks beyond exasperated, (and a little angry, but Grimmjow tucks it to the back of his mind, because he knows everyone in the shoten, and Kisuke is not technically a _good_ man, but he's not _unkind,_ and certainly not prone to anger) and prepares the kido. Grimmjow feels satisfied even as he stands, unfolding himself and curling his fingers around Pantera's hilt. They've come far from the days where he could get away with using his bare hands in an all out fight with Kurosaki. It's full power, immediately; or be steamrolled into the dirt.

He loves it. Makes his teeth itch in his gums. 

* * *

  
  
  


Every fight with Kurosaki is simultaneously the easiest thing Grimmjow has ever done, and exactly as simple as prying a snake's jaw open barehanded to pull their fangs with your fingers. The boy is miasmic, when he wants to be, as hard to grasp as fog between his hands. Like sifting through sand with claws. The ginger fuck has defeated two would-be _gods,_ and still gets nervous about a _spar_ , like Grimmjow could possibly pose a genuine threat. 

He keeps saying that next time will be the time he really guts Kurosaki. He keeps telling himself the boy is still his _prey._ Hollows like him don't make _friends._ And besides--what they do have, Kurosaki sure as hell doesn't seem to mimic with any of the weak humans and shinigami he says he cherishes. Grimmjow is comfortable in the knowledge he's somehow _special,_ even as he pokes and prods the half breed into fighting him again over the course of an hour. Needling Kurosaki until he's agitated and willing. 

Usually, he gets his way in the end, even if sometimes it's just a quick brawl, his gigai versus Ichigo's human body. Sometimes they fill Kisuke's training grounds with their reiatsu and go for _hours,_ until one or the other wavers in exhaustion. Until the black estigma over Kurosaki's cheek and eye starts to fade in pigmentation, and the horn shatters away, fragments of bone turning to ambient reishi. Until Grimmjow can't hold his resurreccion any longer. 

Sometimes Kurosaki can't focus. Sometimes Grimmjow goes to antagonise him, and stops himself in his tracks, because the boy is distant and frail; his steel spine leaves him for seemingly no reason. 

Grimmjow never _understands_ those days, but he owes Ichigo respect. Instead he demands Kurosaki's _attention,_ and, petulantly, sits and listens to Ichigo explain things about the human world for him. (Explain things about emotions. He only trusts Kurosaki not to lead him astray. Not to laugh at him for not knowing what the swoop of his gut really means when he looks off a high ledge.) He presses questions, _vulnerability,_ through gritted teeth and lounges on the boy's bed, while Ichigo sits with his long legs folded up underneath him at his desk, writing, sometimes, or simply fiddling with various objects. 

Grimmjow feeds off the very edges of the reiatsu constantly pouring from Kurosaki. He will never tell the boy this. Shinigami get real offended, knowing they're being _eaten alive._

* * *

_Ichigo_ kisses _him_ first. Hollows can't _get_ drunk; and Grimmjow quietly keeps this knowledge to himself, after the first time Yoruichi drags him into drinking with her, because he doesn't want to be manhandled into a gigai and end up spilling all the worries that curl inside the marrow of his bones with a loose, tipsy tongue, hypersensitive to touch. 

But Ichigo _does_ get drunk, evidently, human body or soul form, he's equally affected. Yoruichi's sake stash is apparently obscenely strong, (she proudly said so before slamming six bottles down on the table) because it left Kisuke, too, giggling and wilting over her shoulders, cheeks bright red and hat lost somewhere in the room. 

Grimmjow is the one who has to get Ichigo up the stairs and into the guest room at the shoten, because Yoruichi and Kisuke are currently performing a delicate balancing act, leaning so heavily against each other that if one falters or stumbles the other will hit the floor face first, and while he'd usually love to see that, Tessai has been staring into his own cup and muttering in a way that's starting to get under his skin. 

Ichigo laughs, though, beside him, and half leans, half _curls_ into his side, looks up through gold lashes at Grimmjow. And he-

Ichigo isn't _gorgeous._ But there's something captivating about him. Grimmjow feels like he could cut his gaze on Kurosaki's sharp edges, sharp cheekbones, sharp jaw. Sharp almond eyes. Sharp, but elegant, like the edge of Pantera's blade. The riotous curl of searing orange, (red and gold streaks and highlights, the more time he spends in the sun in his human body the brighter gold it becomes,) softens it all, but Grimmjow _knows._ Kurosaki is his sharpest covered in blood, eyes glinting gold and feral. 

Grimmjow hooks an arm around Kurosaki's waist and hauls him up when he stands, and Ichigo _laughs,_ latches onto him with skinny, grasping fingers, his shihakusho trailing on the floor as he wraps his legs around Grimmjow's hips. It _nearly_ makes him stumble, and it _does_ make Yoruichi howl in amusement at the sight, but he doesn't care. Ichigo will undoubtedly be embarrassed, about it, when he sobers up and Yoruichi starts in on teasing him, but her lewd jokes have never really hit home on Grimmjow. He thinks it drives her a little up the wall. 

Kurosaki is light, though, ridiculously so, pointy elbows and white knuckles where he fists them at Grimmjow's shoulders, the seams of his jacket pulling taut with the pressure. It's easy for Grimmjow to head up the stairs, even though it's hard for him to see his feet, with all of Kurosaki in the damn way; but instinct and memory doesn't let him down. The hard part is opening the sliding door, with his hand curled under each of Ichigo's thighs, supporting the boy, and it takes a minute of trying to get Ichigo's attention before he finally uncurls one hand and opens the door enough for Grimmjow to get his foot in and shove it the rest of the way open. 

The next challenge, is, of course, prying the little bastard off of him. He starts by telling him, because despite what most people think, he doesn't immediately resort to violence at every given opportunity. The next is to dig his fingers harshly into Ichigo's thighs, when Kurosaki shakes his stupid head and clings tighter, and gives Grimmjow a faceful of hair when he shoves his cheek against Grimmjow's collarbones. 

Grimmjow should feel uncomfortable, with teeth so close to his throat. But he doesn't. 

Ichigo hisses in pain, but out of sheer stubborn spite (presumably) he clings even tighter, and Grimmjow sighs, and kneels, leans over the futon to press Ichigo down on his back and try and pry him off with his hands free, no longer supporting the boy's weight. Kurosaki unhooks his legs, at least, but he's. Warm. And small, and Grimmjow fumbles a bit at those birdbone wrists in his distraction, even though he's tried crushing them in his grip before and knows well enough it's harder than crushing steel. They're just-

Kurosaki fists both hands in Grimmjow's hair, and drags his face down, and kisses him. 

Grimmjow has never kissed anyone, before. Well, not in his _death,_ at least, and he doesn't remember living, so that's what really matters, isn't it? His lips part on automatic and Ichigo drags his tongue over the edges of his sharp teeth, and Grimmjow snarls a little when hot blood spills between their mouths. It's muffled, and Ichigo shudders when Grimmjow returns the favour, cautious, testing. Fists his own hands in hair that's coarser, finer than his own, and mimics the drag of Ichigo's tongue. He likes to think he's a quick learner, and something in him _thrills_ at the soft, breathy noises Kurosaki makes into the kiss. 

(Ichigo tasted like bitter sake. He kissed Grimmjow until he had to twist his head to the side to breathe, get air in his lungs, and Grimmjow couldn't look away from the smear of blood over his soft mouth, where his canines caught on delicate skin and tore. His _teeth_ gave Kurosaki that split lip.)

Pantera _howls,_ in her forest, claws tearing up the undergrowth as she bunches all her powerful muscles up to spring, to _pounce._ She's so hungry, and so is he. _Eat him now,_ she says, around her thick tongue, already anticipating more than the little scraps of heavy power Grimmjow feeds them, _eat him now, while we have the chance, while he will_ **_let us_ ** _, and I will remake him here for you, safe amongst the trees for you to come and kiss and lap the blood from his mouth whenever you wish it._

Grimmjow goes still. Predatory. And Ichigo--stupid, drunk Kurosaki Ichigo, he pulls Grimmjow down again and tucks his face against Grimmjow's temple. Puts his neck right _there,_ right there for hungry teeth to _take,_ and falls asleep as if there is nothing to fear. 

Grimmjow doesn't move for what feels like _hours,_ but is, in truth, probably mere minutes. When he does finally pull away, it's gentle, to the sound of Pantera snarling and howling at him, demanding he take what is his. Kurosaki would look so fucking perfect amongst the humid green. She's right. He thinks there's flowers growing around the edges of the waterfall in his rainforest, and he thinks they're varying shades of gold and orange and red. Ichigo _would_ fit so nicely in his mind. Safe. His power helping Grimmjow live _forever._

Grimmjow drags the blanket up over Kurosaki before he leaves, and closes the door to the room before he heads back downstairs. 

* * *

  
  
  


Kurosaki's face does that weird twist, like it always does when the stupid half breed feels likes he's done something wrong, and the apology barely even leaves his mouth before Grimmjow is eating the words right from the source, crowding the smaller man up against the wall, next to the ladder leading up and out of the training grounds. Hands twist in the fabric of his jumpsuit, and when Ichigo gasps and breaks the kiss, slams his head back against the wall with a wince and a 'wait-' Grimmjow drags his tongue along his jugular instead, his own hands (hopefully) pressing _bruises_ into slim hips, over the bone. He hopes it hurts. He hopes Ichigo _likes them._

Ichigo doesn't try to apologise again. 

* * *

  
  
  


Grimmjow understands, in a distant sort of way, that fighting and fucking should, probably, be seperate things. Attempting to murder the person you trust with your vulnerability during orgasm every other night- it shouldn't correlate. How they can go from brutalising each other, to lounging in Kisuke's hot spring and exchanging tired, snarky barbs edged with fondness at each other, to Ichigo's legs pushed up against his chest by Grimmjow's hands- 

Grimmjow used to think Ichigo wasn't beautiful, but he _is,_ in a feral, vicious manner. The way his nails dig along Grimmjow's hierro, (or his skin, in his gigai, but Grimmjow hates the loss of control so much overwhelming sensation causes) and the way he writhes and snarls when Grimmjow doesn't obey his urging for _more, faster,_ it feels a lot like worship. Mutual and stunning. He likes to drag his tongue over the scars along Ichigo's ribs, feel the way his heart flutters under his palm. That's beautiful. 

And if they don't come away covered in bites and claim marks, what's the point? The first time Kisuke saw the bruised red-purple of Ichigo's throat, a ring of sharp teeth marks over the side of his neck, he'd spun on Grimmjow with something approaching protective ferocity, only to stop dead in his tracks at the fucking _plethora_ Ichigo had given _him._ From his chest snaking up to his goddamn jaw, Grimmjow wears each and every dark bite proudly, because Ichigo is a goddamn menace to wrangle on the battlefield _and_ in bed. Forcing him down is only half the war; and maybe Grimmjow doesn't care to _win_ the other half, doesn't try terribly hard to avoid teeth and claws. Ichigo would never eat him, but the fact he lets _Grimmjow_ put his teeth at his throat and _bite_ \- that's everything to him. 

(Maybe Ichigo is everything to him.)

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Ichigo is the one who suggests learning how to open a garganta. He turns to Grimmjow, for it, (of course, Grimmjow is the only arrancar who's consistently in the human world to even ask,) and Grimmjow has to consider it for a while. Not in the sense he doesn't think Ichigo should know it, or even _could_ learn it, but in the sense that--well. How do you teach something like that? Something you didn't exactly learn yourself. 

Ichigo is unbelievably patient, when he wants to be, and when Grimmjow curls around him and closes his eyes to think, Ichigo pats his arm and settles down to sleep. Pantera hisses, soft and resigned, a wordless push for consumption, but as time has passed so has her fury at his reluctance to do what hollows are built for; _eat souls._ He assuages her with small fry, the ones that pop up in Karakura now and again, and sometimes he returns to the eternal night deserts of Hueco Mundo to hunt adjuchas across the dunes and feast on them. 

_But he would be better,_ she mutters, and Grimmjow ignores her, and thinks instead on how he opens a garganta in the first place, how he presses his fingers through the overlapping fabric of the world and tears through. 

* * *

It ends like this. 

Grimmjow lunges forward across the sand and Ichigo laughs, swings his blade up, and claws cast sparks off the metal before he flash steps away, to another dune peak. Grimmjow blurs to follow, a pleased, feral grin pulled across his face. Kurosaki is in his element like this, stunning and vibrant under the black sky, against the white sand. Sharp, always _sharp,_ quick and vicious with every strike. 

Grimmjow sometimes wonders why Ichigo wanted to learn how to tear through space to reach the desert in the first place, when they can just use Kisuke's heavily warded bunker, but there's something thrilling about doing this dance over ground bone instead of dirt, spilling blood and baring teeth in Grimmjow's true birthplace, under an eerie crescent moon. 

Every fight with Ichigo makes him feel _vibrant._ Every time Ichigo shows him that unwavering _trust._ Grimmjow doesn't deserve it. 

They play across Hueco Mundo for hours, until Grimmjow's crown cracks and splinters and Pantera peels away from his spine and lands blade first in the sand, until Ichigo falters and breathes heavy, blinks blood from his eyes. 

Ichigo smiles at him, when Grimmjow sinks to his knees, shaking, hand firmly curled around a vibrant blue hilt, and then something moves in the distance- an adjuchas, probably, drawn by the clash of reiatsu, perhaps hoping to pick the winner off while they're weak with victory, or steal their prey out from under their nose. 

Ichigo turns his head away from Grimmjow, to track the movement, even as he resettles both his swords at his back and side. So much _easy_ , _giving_ trust. Doesn't consider Grimmjow a threat. (He isn't. Grimmjow holds Ichigo up something close to godhood in his heart. Aizen could never have inspired so much loyalty.)

But he is tired, and Pantera is all of his hunger, and she has been wanting Ichigo dead for years, now. 

Ichigo looks down at him, brows furrowed and eyes wide in confusion. Grimmjow stares at the shining steel of Pantera's blade pushed through Ichigo's chest. 

Kurosaki sinks forward a little, blood running down the central groove of the metal, pooling at the s-shaped hilt. He half expects it to coat his hands, sticky-hot, but it drips down to the sand instead, wasted. 

"Don't move," Grimmjow breathes, panic curling along his spine, and Ichigo hums oddly, a sort of dissonant, soothing sound, and he _smiles._ It's off, somehow, blood in his teeth and eyes too wide, and then the expression falls and he stops- everything. He stops breathing, and Grimmjow shudders as the full weight of his body slumps forwards, held up by Pantera and Pantera alone. 

She purrs. _Eat him now, before he fades._

Grimmjow makes a horrendous, violent noise, deep in his chest and dragging up his throat, almost a sob, and his strength leaves him all at once. Pantera and Ichigo drop, to the sand, and there's a flurry of white as Grimmjow scrambles in a haze of adrenaline and panic, hauls Ichigo up into his arms and pulls the sword _out._ He stares, and Pantera snarls, distantly, left on the dune, and. Ichigo isn't healing. His eyes are still open, so empty. 

His blood is _hot_ and _everywhere,_ sticky, metallic. Grimmjow knows what it tastes like. He knows what it feels like when it lingers on his tongue. 

Right now, though, he just feels sick. Something like cold shock overtakes him, and he can't quite bring himself to move. The distant adjuchas moves closer, circling carefully, and Grimmjow has his hands curled over the wound in his chest, trying to stem the blood flow. It goes all the way through, and Ichigo is getting _cold._ He's starting to _dissipate._

Grimmjow thinks _Kisuke,_ and he grabs Pantera back up, and holds her (terrified) against Ichigo, her flat side pressed to him to prevent her cutting, and hauls Ichigo up immediately after. Sand has crusted against his shihakusho along the back where it's soaked through with blood. There are more adjuchas, circling, and Grimmjow realises how _low_ his own reiatsu is. How _tasty_ Ichigo must be, dead and such a well of energy. (Two for the price of one.) He tears open the garganta almost too fast, has to rearrange Ichigo in his arms and step inside in the same movement. 

"I'm sorry," he mutters under his breath, into vibrant orange hair. There's blood at the corners of Ichigo's mouth, but it's already mostly dried. His shihakusho is shredding away, and Grimmjow is having trouble holding him tightly with his swords in the way. 

They land on the table. 

There’s food everywhere, ceramic crunching under his boots and body. Soy sauce and sashimi splattering all around, his knee is wet with curry soaking through his pants where he landed in it. There’s so much blood. The scents mix in his nose and he’s _famished,_ and Ichigo is still cold. Still flaking in pieces, but Grimmjow's reiatsu is in the air too, as dense around Ichigo as he can pack it, trying to hold everything in place in the _world_ instead of in his soul where Pantera demands he _belongs_ \- her roaring drowns the panicked screams from the children. 

Kisuke has figured out what happened faster than Grimmjow can open his mouth to explain. He can’t really explain anyway. His tongue is too rough, keeps scraping on the roof of his mouth, teeth too sharp and long, filling his mouth like they're swelling, somehow. 

Ichigo showed him once that they have different teeth. The ones in the back of _his_ Ichigo's ( _his sun,_ his _everything's_ ) mouth are wide and flat. Grimmjow's are long and sharp, meant for cracking bone, not grinding plant matter. 

That’s not relevant right now. Ichigo. Ichigo Ichigo _ichigoichigoichigo—_ “ ** _help.”_ **

He gets out some approximation of the word, tries again, and then again to make sure. He thinks he got the language right. 

He can’t see. His eyes have stopped working, gone all blurry and started smudging all the colours together. 

Yoruichi is behind him. Hasn’t seen the wound yet. But Grimmjow _begs_ without a second thought to his pride, Ichigo is so much more important, for Kisuke. Tries to blink and squint through his blurry vision to find Kisuke’s gaze. “ _Please.”_ It's a raw, wet gasp, saliva stringing between his fangs, because Pantera is _thrashing_ in his head, tearing through trees and turning moist soil to mud with her claws extended. So loud. Overwhelming. 

Kisuke looks at Ichigo, and then he turns his gaze back to Grimmjow, and it is _cold._ So cold, empty, uncaring. Grimmjow can feel his spine lock, fingers curling into harsher claws in black, bloody fabric. 

Pantera, too, is bloody. He didn’t shove her back into her sheath in his rush to sprint through the Garganta and he holds her clenched against Ichigo’s body, hunched over the boy trying desperately to keep him all _here_ but the evidence is so visible. So obvious what he’s done. He’ll leave. 

He’ll leave and never come back, never enter the human world again if only Kisuke can “- **fix him! Why aren’t you** **_moving_** _ **?!**_ ” 

Kisuke shifts, and his fingers dance along the head of his cane by his side. Grimmjow curls further over Ichigo, protective, (he's so cold, so cold, his eyes are still open, still dull,) and Kisuke shakes his head. "You already know there is nothing I can do, Jeagerjaquez."

And. And _and._ Grimmjow knew, sort of, that despite having 'renounced' soul society, according to Yoruichi at least, Ichigo and his human friends are the only ones who don't _hate hollows._ Because Shinigami are horror stories, each and every one, trained to despise and slaughter things like Grimmjow. Kisuke hid it so well, so _well,_ but Grimmjow knew, somewhere in his chest. He pretended he didn't. Something comforting about telling himself he had _bonds_ outside of Kurosaki. 

"Kisuke," Yoruichi starts, her breath audibly hitching, and another little wisp of Ichigo escapes the iron hold of Grimmjow's reiatsu. 

" _Please,_ " Grimmjow sobs again, his chest shuddering violently, and he's _aching._ He doesn't know if it's hunger or emotion. They've always been so close to the same, when it comes to Ichigo. Stealing scraps of his soul, but he can't bear to eat him in his entirety because- "the girl, then, Hime, please, where is she, I can-" take him there. 

Grimmjow's whole body spasms and quakes and he's never moved like this before, so jerky and uncontrolled, Ichigo told him he was the _picture of eerie grace,_ right before tossing him into a boulder. 

Kisuke draws Benihime and stands in the same motion. Grimmjow feels so small, splayed out on the table with Ichigo cradled to his chest. He's stopped bleeding out, and Grimmjow can't _see,_ he's not _safe here,_ and Kisuke is _taller than him_ like this. He might be hyperventilating, his ribs expanding and shrinking under his skin, somehow, along with his lungs. _The bones are gonna come right through,_ he thinks, illogical and stupid, and turns his head to hide his face in Ichigo's hair. His blurry eyes can't see Kisuke anyway. 

"Orihime-san won't be able to do anything, Jeagerjaquez. You _know that._ She can't reject death."

" _Kisuke,_ " Yoruichi hisses, and her reiatsu flares, and Grimmjow tugs on it to feed himself, to fill up his own reserves to pack tighter around Ichigo. He's lost shreds of his clothes into the dissipating reishi. Grimmjow can't let that happen. He has to keep him whole, or he'll only be brought back in _parts._ Little _pieces._ Broken and deformed. Shards of sunlight. Behind him she chokes on air, _must be uncomfortable,_ and Kisuke shifts in his tear-filled peripheral. 

" _No,_ he wouldn't want-" Yoruichi snarls, low, and the shinigami hesitates, tsks. Kisuke has only ever put up with Grimmjow for _Ichigo's sake._ Grimmjow doesn't even care. He doesn't care at all- just as long as the scientist _fixes him_. The woman, with her big doe eyes, she can _reject reality,_ she can- 

"Get out of here, Grimmjow. Let go of Ichigo and _leave._ " His voice is colder now than his eyes were. Kisuke is a cold, cold man, under the pleasant, well meaning shopkeeper's disposition. Soaked in more crimson than Grimmjow ever could be. 

Ichigo's blood is just _brighter._ More obvious. 

"You-" Grimmjow starts, then breaks around a gasp, cards the fingers of one hand through orange strands, "-no, please, please you have to-" 

"He can't be saved. Let him dissipate in peace." Yoruichi's voice is soft, sympathetic, even with the hard edge of teeth and claw behind it. She's the only other cat-creature he's ever really known and trusted. 

But Grimmjow can't. He can't let Ichigo _stop existing._

He tears another garganta open through the wood of the table. Through the mess, and the blood, and the scattered ceramic; and Kisuke yells and lunges even as he drops through into the void, jaw opening wide and Pantera crawling up his throat to devour every last scrap of Ichigo Kurosaki. 

_His._


End file.
